Page 8 of Impawssible Magic

“You got outmaneuvered by a little old lady?” Rhodes actually sounds impressed.

“She is not a little old lady. She is an ancient being of terrifying power who happens to bake excellent desserts.” Veren drains his glass. “Never underestimate anyone who can make cobbler that good. There’s definitely dark magic involved.”

The fire crackles in the massive hearth that dominates the room’s far wall. Outside, the sounds of The Den drift through the closed door—laughter, the clink of glasses, someone’s terrible attempt at a drinking song. Normal sounds. Safe sounds. The kind that make you forget, briefly, that the wards protecting this town are slowly failing.

“So.” Rhodes turns his attention to Torin. “The weather witch. What do you know?”

Torin’s expression softens in a way that makes me immediately suspicious. “Sakura Tempest. Elemental affinity. Strong, apparently—she’s been causing localized storms without meaning to. Moved here hoping the town’s ambient magic would help stabilize her.”

“Has it?”

“I’m taking her muffins tomorrow.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “She seems like she could use some kindness.”

“Muffins.” Rhodes’s eyebrows climb toward his hairline. “You’re taking a potentially dangerous weather witch muffins.”

“Blueberry. My grandmother’s recipe.”

“And what happens when she gets emotional about the muffins and accidentally summons a tornado?”

Torin waves a massive hand dismissively. “Then I’ll help her clean up. That’s what neighbors do.”

“You’re not her neighbor. You’re her assigned monitor.”

“Those things aren’t mutually exclusive.” Torin takes a long pull of his whiskey. “Besides, have you ever tried to intimidate someone into magical stability? Doesn’t work. Trust me.”

“He has a point,” Veren chimes in. “Remember when Caius tried the intimidation approach with that pyromancer who kept accidentally setting things on fire? How did that work out?”

Rhodes grimaces. “The Den lost an entire wing.”

“And Caius lost his eyebrows for a month.” Veren grins. “Kindness and baked goods. Much safer approach.”

Rhodes opens his mouth to argue further, then closes it. He’s too honorable to admit Torin has a point, but I can see him quietly changing his mind about it.

Elio catches my eye across the circle, amusement flickering in his expression. We’ve both seen this before—Torin adopting a new project, Rhodes objecting on principle, Veren making everything worse with his commentary, the bear winning through sheer stubborn kindness.

I watch the exchange, saying nothing. Torin has always been the soft one among us—patient, nurturing, the kind of male who adopts wounded things and nurses them back to health. It’s not weakness. I’ve seen him angry exactly twice, and both times I was grateful to be on his side.

“And you?” Veren’s attention shifts to me with predatory focus. “The charm witch. You’ve been remarkably silent about your assignment. Suspicious silence. The kind that suggests either boredom or barely suppressed interest.” He taps his chin. “Given that you have the emotional range of a particularly stoic rock, I’m going to guess... interest.”

“I walked past her shop.” I keep my voice flat. “She was working late.”

“That’s it? That’s your entire report?”

“It’s a preliminary report.”

“That’s it? That’s your assessment?” Veren throws his hands up. “I’m disappointed, Aslan. Truly.”

“I’m not done looking.”

“Clearly.” He leans back, sharpness entering his gaze. “She’s scared, you know. The witch.”

The temperature in the room drops. Or maybe that’s just me.

“Running from something?” Elio’s smooth voice cuts through the sudden tension.

“Running from someone.” Veren’s usual levity fades. “I don’t know who. Not yet. But she didn’t come to Mistvale for the charming weather and excellent cobbler. She came here to hide.”

The thought surfaces before I can stop it. I push it down.